


Loopy

by Strings (fangirlgeekout)



Series: Monster 'verse [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pet Store, Animal Shelter, Fluff and Humor, Kink Discovery, M/M, Tentacle Monsters, Tickling, Ticklish Dean Winchester, tickle monster - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-03-12 02:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13537536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlgeekout/pseuds/Strings
Summary: Castiel is a recent hire at an animal adoption center, where there are cute cats, dogs, guinea pigs... and invisible critters called loopers, which have weird dietary needs. Then, shelter volunteer Dean shows up to help feed them, and suddenly Cas learns a lot more about both loopers and himself.---Cas has never understood why people liked loopers, anyway. Cats are soft and cute, and the shelter cycles through them at a good pace. Dogs are enthusiastically loving, although loud, and their playfulness is always a hit with families. Sure, loopers can be great service animals, and most kids weirdly like them, but what’s the appeal in a pet that is neither fluffy nor adorable? Invisible animals have to lose the novelty sooner or later; not to even mention the tentacles. (Cas squirms his shoulders uncomfortably.) Plus, feeding them is bizarre. The artificial pheromones have gotten a lot better at fulfilling the looper’s nutritional needs over the last decade or so, but still. Feeding a pet via gas chamber is never going to seem normal to Cas.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Team Free Will Adopts a Monster](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13497850) by [Strings (fangirlgeekout)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlgeekout/pseuds/Strings). 



> Originally posted Feb 2017 on [Tumblr](http://wordstrings.tumblr.com/post/156955781230/loopy).
> 
> These "chapters" were posted to my blog as complete works, so I'm marking this AO3 version as complete. But there may very well be additions at a later time if I decide to write more sequels, so be sure to subscribe if you want updates!

“Thank you. This room will be open again after feeding time is over.”

Castiel ushers the last visitors out into the hallway as he follows. The door, honey-colored wood with a large pane of wired glass embedded in its upper half, clicks shut behind him, followed by the light hiss of the sealant system. The pheromones that would shortly pump into the room are fairly harmless to people, but it always sends the critters inside into a bit of a tizzy, and rowdy animals don’t get adopted. Cas had been hired here less than two weeks ago, but that much is already obvious.

The three-year-old girl with the purple coat is fussing at the closed door. Her tiny fingers curl at the frame of the glass, trying in vain to pull herself up to see the “woopers” some more, until her father deftly redirects her toward the kitty room down the hall.

Cas has never understood why people liked loopers, anyway. Cats are soft and cute, and the shelter cycles through them at a good pace. Dogs are enthusiastically loving, although loud, and their playfulness is always a hit with families. Sure, loopers can be great service animals, and most kids weirdly like them, but what’s the appeal in a pet that is neither fluffy nor adorable? Invisible animals have to lose the novelty sooner or later; not to even mention the tentacles. (Cas squirms his shoulders uncomfortably.) Plus, feeding them is bizarre. The artificial pheromones have gotten a lot better at fulfilling the looper’s nutritional needs over the last decade or so, but still. Feeding a pet via gas chamber is never going to seem normal to Cas.

Inside the sealed room, visibly empty shift-proof cages line the walls. Some of them start to rattle as the first puffs of industrial pheromones trickle in.

Cas pulls a clipboard from the plastic file holder bolted to the wall, marks off the feeding time, and slides it back in place. Next up is hosing down the outside kennels. He heads back to the front desk to make sure the dogs in block four have been moved.

The moment Cas rounds the corner into the little lobby, his eye is drawn to the casual shape leaning comfortably against the receptionist’s desk. The man’s built shoulders tilt invitingly, propped on one elbow as he chats Charlie up. “ _Clueless fratboy_ ” is Cas’ first thought, which is somewhat tragic, considering the way his thighs look in those worn jeans.

Charlie is laughing, though; not the fake titter she often hands out to overly friendly visitors. She catches Cas’ eye and motions him over, still smiling. Maybe the guy is a friend of hers. At least he isn’t trying to bark up the wrong tree, then.  _Clueless_  gets scratched off the list.

“So, two pain pills later he was basically a drunk ragdoll again, but he fell asleep after only half of the movie. Thank God, because I can only take so much tipsy discourse on the science of superheroes.”

 _Fratboy_  still remains a descriptor, in light of the cocksure amusement the guy’s giving off with his story. And his beautiful face. It’s such a shame how the really good faces always seem to come with tiresome attitudes.

“Dean, this is Cas, the new guy,” Charlie offers by way of introduction when Castiel reaches the desk. Laughter still colors her voice. “I’m glad Sam is okay, anyway,” she says to Dean. “The little buggers missed you last week, so they’ll probably be extra-excited to see you.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Dean answers with a grin, though he’s looking at Cas. “They ready for me?”

Cas is about to ask who he’s talking about, but Charlie jumps in.

“Dean volunteers to help feed the loopers. I was just about to get him set up with one of the visitation rooms, but Ellen showed you where the keys are, right? Would you make sure number three is clean?”

“I can, but…” Cas’ brow furrows in confusion. “I just started the feeding, though. The looper room should be clear in another five minutes or so.”

“That fake stuff is  _not_  healthy,” Dean says, with the certainty of someone who’s said it many times before. “They need the real thing, man.”

“The real… what?” Cas echoes vacantly.

Charlie smiles at Dean. “I’m sure a little dessert won’t hurt them. Let’s get you with some of the smaller ones. Bailey’s just recovered from her surgery, so she could use the extra boost.”

Cas gets sent off to check visitation room number three, even though he still hasn’t the faintest clue why. The loopers are already fed. Maybe Dean makes his own blend of looper phero, like blogger moms who bake up batches of natural dog treats. He forcibly stops his brain when it starts wandering down the path of how one might gather “organic” pheromones. That’s either gross or… incredibly inappropriate, and definitely not safe for work, regardless.

Who the heck is this Dean guy, anyway? Shelter volunteers are usually teenagers or retirees, not pretty men wearing muscles and plaid. Anyone who’s friendly with Charlie has got to be a decent person, though. And conscientious, too, if they care about the nutritional wellbeing of these discarded animals. Maybe Cas judged a little too quickly.

He’s picking up the cat toys scattered on the floor from the previous visit when not-a-fratboy appears in the doorway.

“So, new guy?” Dean comes in and plops on the bench built into the wall beneath the window. He bends over and starts unlacing his work boots.

 _Lumberjack_ gets scribbled nonsensically on the descriptor list, especially with the way Dean’s biceps fill out his sleeves. The visitation room is already small, but now it feels like there’s barely room for Cas to breathe.

“Um. Yes. Week before last.” Cas gathers his brow as Dean pulls off his boots, followed by his socks. “What… what are you doing?”

Dean looks up at him, throws his arms out to the sides (his knuckles nearly brush the walls), raises his eyebrows, and smiles.

“Feeding time.”

Cas nods slowly, as if any of this makes sense.

Next off is Dean’s unbuttoned plaid shirt, leaving him in a fitted charcoal tee that is far more distracting around the arms than even the last one was. He really needs to stop taking his clothes off. Cas clears his throat.

“Is there anything I can–”

“Heeeere we come,” Charlie trills, waddling into the room with a large cat carrier. She sets it on the floor with a small sound of relief. “They’re getting bigger all the time. This is Bailey, Rex, and Captain. They were all  _very_  enthusiastic about getting to visit you.”

The carrier door shakes against its latch. Scuffling little sounds are scrabbling all over the plastic inside. Dean finishes rolling up the ankles of his jeans, then squats barefoot in front of the carrier.

“Hey, hey!” he greets in that soft, excited way people tend to talk around small animals. Dean sticks his finger in the grate. It jerks as if pulled. “Yes, hi, just another minute, be patient.” He looks up at Charlie and Cas. “Thanks, guys. Check back in twenty? I shouldn’t be too passed out or anything.”

Charlie meets his grin with one of her own. “You got it.”

They exit. Charlie shuts the door behind them, and turns back to look through the glass.

“It’s kinda fun to watch,” she says. Dean chatters, muffled, at the carrier, making sympathetic expressions as though he understands what the loopers are trying to tell him. He spares no attention for the world outside the door. “He loves them and it’s sort of adorable.”

Dean unlatches the carrier and allows himself to be thrown back by the force of the energetic shelter loopers. Three empty collars come bounding over him, bobbing and climbing and wriggling with excitement. Dean laughs and grabs at the blue collar. He works his hands over the space around it, looking for all the world like he’s scruffing a dog’s face, except there’s no face and no dog.

Cas watches him lay back on the floor to be swarmed over. “Alright, come and get it,” he hears Dean say.

And then Dean’s laughing even more. Sharper, almost startled, and he claps an arm over his stomach just above where the hem of his shirt reveals a slip of skin.

“Easy, easy. Slow down, plenty to go a– around!” His voice breaks on a hiccup, then he’s giggling.

A grown (incredibly attractive lumberjack) man, squirming on the ground,  _giggling_. His shoulders push into the tile floor and his knees splay as his bare heels squeak for purchase. Cas swallows.

“What a dork.”

Cas nearly jumps out of his skin. He had completely forgotten Charlie was still standing next to him. She crosses her arms and shakes her head fondly while they both watch through the closed door.

“He tries to be such a suave, tough guy, but being ticklish kind of ruins the façade. Makes him good at this, though.”

Cas stares through the glass. It takes a moment for him to put it all together.

Feeding the loopers. Pheromones. The real thing. Tentacles. Ticklishness.

Holy shit.

He’s watching Dean get tickled by invisible little creatures who live on the reactions.

Also, what the fuck is in that artificial phero mix that Cas has been pumping into the looper room?

“Welp, I’ll leave you to it.” Charlie pats his shoulder. “Keep an eye on him here and there? He always says he’s fine, but I keep imagining that I’ll come back one of these times to find him unconscious with that huge stupid smile still on his face.”

She wanders back to the lobby and leaves Cas with a whole lot of new feelings that he doesn’t know what to do with.

Dean’s got both hands over his face, now, elbows to the ceiling and toes of one foot pressing the far wall. His laughter is jumping, rolling, spiking along with the occasional full-body jolt, and there’s a tingle stirring in Cas’ belly that’s following the movements with uncanny similarity. Cas doesn’t think he’s ever found someone’s laugh alluring before.

Cas realizes he’s got a death grip on the keys still in his hand. He blinks down at them and the impression they left in his palm. He should put them back. And then go hose down the kennels.

His legs feel funny as he walks the keys back to the office. They carry him through the halls past posters that praise the benefits of adoption, framed local award certificates, and that one fluorescent ceiling light that hums a little more noticeably than the rest. Instead of taking him outside, though, they take him right back to visitation room three.

As he comes up to the door, Cas can see that Dean is laying on his front, now. His legs are twitching desperately. The blue and orange collars are hovering over the upturned soles of his feet, which are scrunching and flapping back and forth. The rose collar is perched by Dean’s shoulder, and his neck is crumpled as far to that side as possible. It looks uncomfortable. But still Dean laughs.

Cas tries to remember the last time he was tickled. He can’t. He can’t call up a specific memory of the sensation, either, but it seems like something that should be unbearable. He rubs an elbow along the side of his ribs.

Dean’s starting to curl up, bringing his arm under him to assume a more fetal position. Cas assumes his stomach must be getting sore from all the laughter. That’s something he remembers, at least: the ache after an extended laughing fit from a silly joke or unexpected witticism. It feels good, though, that ache; not like the plaintive strain in his back after a hard day’s work. Kind of like the soreness in his thighs after a satisfying night with– well. He really doesn’t want to start associating Dean those thoughts. Cas knows nothing about him. It’s unfair to start thinking about wearing Dean out with good aches, having him curl up breathless and smiling, spent of energy, eyes going soft… Fuck.

None of that is helped when Dean strangles a surprised sound and both hands dart to the waist of his jeans. The fingers of one hand slip under the denim as his hips twist wildly.

“No no no, not in there you don’t,” Dean pants through ragged, almost-silent chuckles. He pries out the invisible intruding appendage and nearly collapses in apparent relief. The three collars are coming for his face now, and he playfully bats them with tired hands.

“You’re brutal.” He scoops up the orange-collared space and holds it to his chest as he settles on his back. The rose one clambers up next to it, and the blue one nestles at Dean’s side, where his shirt is still rucked up from the playtime. Dean lets his eyes fall closed and takes a few deep breaths.

Cas is conflicted. He just watched a gorgeous man spend time and love on some shelter animals and get tickled to exhaustion. The former is swoon-worthy. The latter is… something he never expected to find captivating.

He processes suddenly that this is something Dean does every week. Which means Dean  _likes_  it.

Whatever rapid-forming fantasy Cas already started centering around Dean is shifting. It isn’t just that strong body going weak and sated in his bed; it’s on a couch or in a kitchen, with breathless laughter, teasing and play and touch. Cas always thought his relationships should be serious and intense, like the oft-stormy displays among his own family, but suddenly there’s a space reserved for something brighter.

If he were daring, Cas would say he wants to press in close and pluck Dean’s laughter with his fingers while he swallows it with his mouth. But Cas is not very daring. At least, he doesn’t think he is. Maybe he just needs the right circumstances.

Dean’s eyes have fluttered open from the floor to find his through the glass. He grins a big beautiful grin. Cas flushes and flails to look elsewhere, now wishing for Charlie at his side to act as a buffer. But she doesn’t appear, and Dean corrals the loopers back in their carrier and has the door open in a matter of seconds. He’s loose and glowing.

“They’re a handful as always. But you’re good little wigglers, aren’t you?” He directs this to the carrier, pats its top, then moves to the bench to replace his shoes.

“I, um.” Cas has no idea what he was about to say. “I… didn’t know loopers did that.”

“They know how to go right for the worst spots,” Dean smiles. “Can drive you a bit crazy if you don’t manage their appetite right. I can’t imagine what it was like before we domesticated these troublemakers. They’d have no idea when to stop.”

_Fantasy shift: lumberjack Dean begging desperately through his laughter–_

Cas nods dumbly.

Dean hefts up the carrier by its handle and holds it out to Cas. “These guys can go back for now.”

“Oh. Right.” He takes it. Charlie’s right, they’re kind of heavy. He wonders if loopers can somehow weigh more after feeding. But Dean is getting ready to leave, and Cas still doesn’t know anything about him, and he really, really wants to change that.

“What do you do, Dean?” he blurts out before he can stop it.  _Don’t say lumberjack._

Dean looks a bit surprised at the question. “Uh. A little of everything, I guess. My family’s got an auto body shop and salvage, so I do some fixing, some towing, some payroll. Whatever needs done.” His eye catches a glimmer as he drapes his plaid shirt over his forearm. “What do you do, Cas?”

“I work at… um… oh.” Cas trails off, embarrassed. “Here.” He bites down on a little smile.

Dean’s knowing grin is pleased. “Plan to still be doing that by this time next week?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Dean steps past him into the hallway. “See you then, Cas.”

Cas watches him stride off and thinks next week can’t come quickly enough.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted Jan 2018 on [Tumblr](http://wordstrings.tumblr.com/post/167416652677/loopy-2).

It’s sort of like torture.

Week after week, Dean shows up at the shelter in a different unfairly-fitted shirt combination with worn-just-right jeans hugging his hips. He smiles that infectious smile and rolls that pebbled voice and then starts taking off his clothes, and all Cas ever gets to do is watch in stop-motion.

He’ll be washing down the outside kennels and hear the deep growl of a classic engine, followed by the distinctive squeak and slam of Dean’s car door. He’ll catch a glimpse of Dean leaning elbows on the reception counter as he passes by the lobby pushing a cart loaded with phero canisters. He’ll be cleaning up the cat toys (again) in one of the visitation rooms, and just as he leaves, Dean brushes by him in the doorway, smiling and already shrugging off his overshirt. He’ll sweep the constantly-accumulating dog and cat hair from the hall and hear Dean’s spikes of laughter echoing. He’ll drop a set of keys back off at the office and see Dean ambling loosely toward the door alongside Charlie, talking and chuckling and looking ready for a nap.

It’s driving him crazy.

All Cas wants to do is greet Dean at the door and be on the receiving end of that flirty smile, or walk Dean down the hall to the room where the man will shortly lose his mind and smirk knowingly as he delivers a crate of hungry loopers, or watch through the window as Dean is swarmed over by little domesticated tickle monsters, or have Dean throw an arm around his shoulders so he can lean tiredly on Cas as they walk back to the lobby after the feeding.

Okay, maybe Cas wants a lot. But Dean seems perfectly worthy of wanting. He’s always friendly, always caring with Charlie, always sweet and loving with the animals. His eyes sparkle emerald, and Cas thinks that Dean had maybe winked at him at least twice in passing – but kind of an awkward blink-wink, like he can’t manage to really control only one eye at a time. Which is why Cas isn’t entirely sure if he’s been winked at.

Cas also wants to tickle the shit out of him.

It’s weird, finding a particular fantasy within oneself that one hasn’t previously been aware is even a Thing. Until that first chance encounter more than a month ago, Cas had no idea that the right huff of laughter can spin up his insides just as intensely as anything traditionally considered arousing. Every week that goes by with Cas only catching the edges of Dean’s self-imposed tickle therapy with the loopers is the worst sort of tease. It’s never enough to even build a proper scenario in his own head.

Who is he kidding. Of course it’s enough. At least, enough to spiral off into completely nonsensical scenes that involve captive Dean and giant tentacle monsters that have no concept of mercy.

But that gets him no closer to actually interacting with Dean. In fact, it will probably make any future interaction even more awkward on Cas’ part. Damned if he can stop thinking about it, though.

So of course that problem shows up to bite him – right in the ass, on his lunch break, while waiting to order at TripleBurger.

“Come here often?” a low voice intones just behind him.

A little thrill races down the back of Cas’ neck. He turns around to find that – because the universe is clearly sadistic – Dean has appeared in line, hands in his pockets and staring up at the menu board. The AC/DC logo across his chest is conforming just right over his pecs, and the sleeves of his plaid overshirt are rolled up over his defined forearms. His eyes fall back down to Cas, teasing, as though this exchange is something they do all the time.

“Ah… not really,” Cas answers, off balance and nervously fingering the hem of his stained work shirt. “Only when I forget to bring a sandwich from home.”

“Mm.”  _Why is his every sound so appetizing?_  “I recommend the number four. The sauce and onion straws take it from ‘awesome’ to ‘devastating.’”

As if “devastating” isn’t a problematic word that brings Cas right back to inopportune thoughts. Fuck.  _Dean’s back arching up in both pleasure and agony…_ He stares unseeingly at the menu and manages a considering sound.

“So, heading back to work after you stuff your face with beefy deliciousness?”

_God_. Cas clears his throat. “I, um. I walked here, so I won’t have much time to sit down before going back.”

“Wanna ride with me?”

Cas blinks his focus back to Dean’s face. “What?”

The man thumbs over his shoulder at the parking lot. “I can drive you, give you some extra time to enjoy a good burger.” He grins. “Unless you think I smell funny or somethin’. No hard feelings.”

“That sounds… great, actually.” Cas feels a smile growing. “Thank you.”

“‘Course,” Dean says easily, as if offering favors to semi-acquaintances that brings them into close personal space with him is an everyday occurrence.

—

Ride sharing comes with an implicit agreement of meal sharing. Cas’ stomach flips a little when Dean slips into the booth across from him with a friendly smile. He has to remind himself more than once that this is incidental, not a lunch date, dammit.

“Number four?” Cas indicates with a bump of his brow as Dean arranges his food tray to his liking.

“Hell yeah.” Dean tears open the thin paper wrapper and takes a greedy bite of the large burger. He rolls his eyes back as though in ecstasy. “ _Mmmphhm_.”

Cas focuses intensely on his soda, latching his lips around the straw and desperately hoping his cheeks aren’t reddening.

Surprisingly, conversation comes easily. Dean is good at fostering an exchange, asking the right questions to draw Cas into dialogue with him. When Cas asks questions back, Dean happily chatters on about how he met Charlie, his role in his family’s business, and stories that make Cas’ eyes water while he tries not to choke on a combination of ground beef and laughter. Dean reaches across the table to pat his shoulder while Cas sucks urgently at his drink to quell his protesting throat. He chuckles while Cas coughs his way to breathing again.

“If your goal is to kill me, there are more efficient ways,” Cas gripes with smiling eyes.

Dean leans back in the booth with a grin. “Oh, dying of laughter ain’t such a bad way to go.”

Cas nearly chokes all over again, hacking into a napkin to hide his burning face.

—

Hands still trembling slightly from the adrenaline, Cas swings the gleaming black passenger door shut and notes vacantly that it makes the familiar squeak-slam. Dean sure knows how to drive. He also knows just how to throw the car’s weight around a corner at the right speed to make Cas shriek and grab at the dashboard. Twice.

Dean still looks smug. “Like her?”

Cas steadies himself, disguising the move as an appreciative pat above the headlight. “She's… fast.”

“Only as fast as the driver.” There’s that blink-wink thing. It’s kind of adorable that he tries. “Don’t let me hold you up if you gotta clock in. I’d better hit the can before feeding time, if I know what’s good for me.”

… _Oh_. Dean isn’t driving Cas around just to be nice. (Although Cas has no doubts that Dean would have offered anyway.) It’s his weekly charitable feeding day. How had Cas not realized? He’s not ready for this.  _Shit_.

Dean chivalrously holds the door for him (complete with flirty smile), and Cas politely thanks him and walks normally until they’re out of sight from each other. Then he dashes the rest of the way to the office, clocks in, grabs a keyring, runs down the hall to unlock a private visitation room, frantically gathers up the discarded cat toys (every! damn! time!), pauses briefly to check his reflection in the door glass, palms at his unruly hair, then dashes back to the lobby.

Dean is just rounding the corner from the direction of the restrooms. Cas strolls (how does one even stroll? Is there such a thing as walking casually when there’s so much effort focused on the walking?) to meet him, already picturing the twist of his torso that will come with Dean taking off his overshirt, or writhing on the floor.

“I’ll, um, take you to the room and let you get ready while I gather a few of our… guests.”

A new voice: “You really are a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?”

Cas and Dean both turn to the reception counter. Charlie had called in sick today, and Ellen is filling in as best she can. Her fingers hunt and peck a few more characters on the keyboard before she glances at Dean over her reading glasses with a little knowing smile.

Dean shrugs loosely. “Just doin’ my good for the day, Ellen. I swear sometimes you let the loopers skip breakfast before you sic ‘em on me, though.”

Ellen raises playful brows. “Cas is the one in charge of the feeding schedule, not me.”

Dean feigns shock and levels an accusing look at him.

“All the more reason to be nice to me,” Cas shoots back with a cocked brow.  _Please, please give me an excuse._

Crossing his arms, Dean straightens to his full height (which makes him look enormously solid and intimidating, and does absolutely nothing helpful for Cas’ intrusive fantasies of wrecking him), and tilts his head defiantly. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

_Oh, yes._

Cas stares him down for several long seconds, then turns on his heel and marches back toward the visitation rooms. Satisfyingly, he hears Dean scramble to follow among Ellen’s chuckles.

At the prepared room, he barely pauses to indicate the door for Dean before sweeping onward to gather what he needs.

It’s a shame to miss Dean’s undressing ritual, but it’s worth it for the look on his face when Cas reappears pushing a moving cart loaded with three large pet crates. Cas grunts as he hefts each crate to the floor of the little room, which crowds quickly.

“Here are Zeus, Cleopatra, and –  _hrghh_  – Tiny. Similarly to how big black dogs have a lower adoption rate, loopers that are larger and older don’t tend to get as much attention. In light of your  _caring, giving_  attitude today, I figured you wouldn’t have a problem with providing our longest-staying residents a little love.”

Dean’s eyes are wide with surprise, but not fear. The crates thump with bulky movement.

“Remind me not to piss you off for real.”

Cas smirks and shuts the door.

Through the glass, watching Dean work through a plan of action is entertaining on its own. He nearly opens one crate first – two of its corners lift off the floor and thud back down from the excitement inside – before stopping himself and sitting back for a moment to reassess. His hands make ghosting practice movements while his lips mutter silently. One bare foot bounces restlessly on the tile floor. After a moment of consideration, he seems to figure out how to snap open all three crates in a quick sweep of motion. Dean takes a few deep breaths to steady himself, makes his move–

and misses one of the latches.

Cleopatra and Tiny are on him in a heartbeat. Dean falls back under the weight of their enthusiasm with a “ _Shit, shit, wait!_ ” that dissolves into cackling. Everything goes from zero to sixty in three seconds.

The mature loopers, as compared to the smaller ones Dean usually interacts with, are clearly giving him a run for his money. They’re heavier and stronger, with longer limbs and bigger appetites. Dean seems to be struggling to pull his arms away from where Cleopatra must be weighing him down. Tiny (who is clearly Not) is hovering over his legs, and Dean’s kicking for purchase on the slick floor. His face is scrunched in tickled desperation. Even through the heavy wood and glass of the door, Cas can hear his gasps for air between bursts of laughter.

“ _Just… let me… f–fuck! I gotta– c’mon! Ffff!_ ”

Amazingly, he’s trying to get at the third crate, where Zeus is rattling to join in. Of course Dean doesn’t want to leave any of them out, because he’s apparently a complete softie like that, even when he’s already got more than enough to handle. Every time he reaches almost far enough, his arm snaps back on a spring to instinctively protect what he has no hope of protecting. The loopers are large, practiced, invisible, and  _everywhere_.

Cas is completely transfixed. Even if he were conscious of how he’s staring, he’d feel justified in watching the totally-deserved destruction of Dean. He teased and prodded Cas both during lunch and the car ride, and practically begged for it with his blatant cheekiness in the lobby. Cas has zero regrets.

In a miraculous burst of will, Dean flings an arm up to throw the latch on the crate. Zeus slams his way out and goes straight for the bare feet squeaking against the floor.

There are three fully-grown loopers assaulting every inch of Dean’s six-foot-handsome frame, and Cas has never felt whatever combination of feelings are roiling around in his chest and belly. Dean’s laughter is getting raspier by the minute, more breathy and punched-out. His wild twisting looks restricted, like maybe Cleopatra’s got him wrapped up in a deadly ticklish embrace around his arms and ribs. Tiny is on his hips, with stomach and sides and thighs in easy reach of however many tentacles loopers actually have. Zeus has apparently coiled around Dean’s lower legs, pinning them together, and must be doing unimaginable things to his soles and toes. Whatever solid exterior Dean had been emanating earlier, he’s nothing but a vulnerable wreckage of helplessness now.

It’s the hottest damned thing Cas has ever witnessed in his life.

And he’s at  _work_. Goddammit. What he wouldn’t give to have Dean like that in the privacy of a bedroom. Or a dungeon. Whatever. He’s still working through these new fantasies.

It’s obvious that Dean won’t be able to fight off the loopers himself once he’s had enough. Cas didn’t really think that part through. He’s got his hand on the doorknob, now, debating how he’ll wrangle the invisible animals if they’re still high on their feeding frenzy, when he realizes Dean’s rasping has diminished to silence. Wide-eyed, Cas jerks the door open just as Dean’s body slumps lax.

He begins to panic, until Dean flops an exhausted arm over his eyes and sighs out a high-pitched sound of relief. The sag of his body must have been the loopers releasing him. Zeus and Cleopatra are clumping together at his right side, while Tiny snuggles in at his left. In the new calm, Cas starts to perceive something he’s only read about – a deep vibration he can’t really hear, or even consciously feel, exactly. But it permeates the room and sinks into his bones: the infrasonic purr of a content looper.

He instantly feels more at ease. It’s kind of incredible.

“Dean?”

The man’s shirt is rucked up, his jeans askew, and he’s sort of melted to the floor like his muscles just don’t work anymore, except for the arm thrown over his face. His chest is moving, at least. It inflates with a deep draw of oxygen, and Dean blows out a half-laugh.

“I feel like I just took a thousand-year nap. And that I need another one to recover.” He swings his arm over to pat Cleopatra. “This one’s oral arms are brutal.”

The purr intensifies.

Cas looks confusedly at the empty space Dean is patting. “The what?”

Dean sighs. He rubs the looper’s side as he addresses it. “It’s like nobody cares to learn about you. It’s okay,  _I_  love you. Even if Cas doesn’t.”

The fact that Dean still has some sass in him, after what he just went through, is remarkable. It reminds Cas’ insides of what he was feeling before the panic cut it short.

But Tiny is beginning to stir, like maybe the open door to the hallway looks like a good chance to go exploring. Cas clucks and encourages the loopers, one by one, back into their crates. By the time the last one is latched, Dean hasn’t gotten up but has managed to flail his arms far enough to retrieve his socks and boots. The effort of lifting his feet into the air to put them on seems to sap whatever energy he’d recovered, so he settles for balling up his plaid button-down and hugging it to his chest while he closes his eyes and breathes.

His lashes are pronounced, laying softly against his still-flushed cheeks. And his lips look even more plush than usual, gently parted as they are around the simple air Dean is cycling in and out of his abused lungs.

Seeing him so reduced is beautiful. It tugs at Cas’ chest, makes him want to make Dean look like that more often, gives him the urge to cradle Dean’s head in his lap and run soothing fingers through his hair. He wants to nurse Dean back to full strength and then lay waste to him all over again.

From the floor, Dean takes another deep breath and heaves himself upright. Cas reaches out to help him up, only registering that they’re grasping each other’s hands just as they release.

Dean looks a little unsteady on his feet. His knee almost fails him when he tries to maneuver past the crates. Cas grabs his bicep to keep him from stumbling, then doesn’t offer so much as insist that Dean hold on to him as they make their way down the hall.

The way Dean’s weight leans warm on his shoulder is decisive, like he has no doubt that Cas can and will support him. The display of trust stirs up cozy feelings that drape Cas like a soft blanket. He wishes the hallway were ten miles long. But they reach the lobby in short order, and Cas is glad that Ellen has temporarily disappeared from behind the counter, because he doesn’t really want to share this with anyone else.

“Are you alright to drive?” he asks, as Dean withdraws (Cas’ whole body wants to pout at the loss) and rolls his shoulders in a few stretches.

“M’not drunk, just tickled out.” Dean grins tiredly. “No thanks to you.”

“I didn’t touch you,” Cas protests.  _Which is a damn shame._  “You brought it on yourself.”  _And I really hope you do it again soon._  He glances back down the hall, contemplating. “That purring thing… I never heard them do that before. And you said something about…” He waves his hands indistinctly. “Different tentacles. Or something.”

Dean huffs. “Maybe we can do lunch again sometime? I don’t have the energy to explain basic math right now, let alone looper biology. Not like I’m any kind of expert, but–”

“It’s a date,” Cas blurts out before his higher functions can stop it. “I, um. I mean. Sounds good.”

“It could be a date, if you wanted.” Dean’s flirty smile makes an appearance.

His pulse races. How many different things is Dean capable of making him feel in one day? In a burst of boldness, Cas says, “How about dinner? Next week, after my shift.”

“It’s a date,” Dean echoes happily.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted Mar 2018 on [Tumblr](http://wordstrings.tumblr.com/post/171901067764/loopy-3).

“So tell me about loopers.”

Dean raises his brows as he taps the butt of his straw against the table, breaching its paper wrapper. “Like I said before, I’m not an expert or anything. But what do you want to know?”

Cas shrugs. “You said–“

Dean raises the partially-unwrapped straw to his lips and blows a puff of air into it. The paper tube shoots off and hits Cas’ forehead with a little  _paff_.

Cas tries to school his face into a warning look when he meets Dean’s (gorgeous, playful) eyes. “You said,” he repeats pointedly, “something before about Cleopatra’s tentacles.  _Arms_ , I think you called them?” He squishes the wrapper into a little ball and flicks it back. It bounces harmlessly against the booth backing near Dean’s shoulder.

“Oh, yeah.” Dean jams the straw into his drink and takes a draw. “Oral arms. Kinda like jellyfish, or squid, y’know?”

Cas does not know. He lets his blank face telegraph this while he methodically unwraps his burger.

“Okay, so, they’ve got all those stringy tentacles, right – jellyfish, I mean, not loopers – but there are just a couple that look kind of ruffly and do the actual stinging. Or for squids, it’s the two longer ones with the paddle-looking things on the ends.” Dean wiggles a hand illustratively. “Those are the oral arms. Generally more specialized than the rest of what they’ve got going on.”

This is probably not what anyone would have expected out of a date with this incredibly attractive man who swaggers and winks and has the most sparklingly suggestive smile this side of the equator. But somehow, the casual conversation over fast food seems perfect. Cas can’t really imagine Dean in a high-end restaurant, dressed up and ordering a fancy dinner in the warm ambiance of candlelight. (Or, rather, he  _can_ , but realism hasn’t been all that important in Cas’ imaginings of late.) And his date seems perfectly content to babble on about whatever Cas asks, falling into a comfortable rhythm between bites of burger. This is far less nerve-wracking than what Cas had been psyching himself up for all day. Relaxing in Dean’s company feels good.

“So when it comes to loopers, their oral arms are thicker and stronger than their other tentacles, and are used to hold onto prey.”

Cas bumps an eyebrow before popping a fry into his mouth. “‘Prey’ like you?”

Well, that’s rather forward. He hadn’t intended to direct this into Dean’s personal experiences – that line of thinking is supposed to wait until he’s home alone after all this. But the way Dean visibly shifts in his seat is rewarding.

“Uh. I mean,” Dean chuckles. “That’s not really… since they’re now domesticated and all… well. Anyway. There are these things on ‘em, these little wiggly nubs instead of suckers like a squid. So they can wrap around stuff and… um…”

“Tickle?” Cas offers. The word feels like carbonation on his tongue. He wonders if it takes Dean back to being a writhing mess of laughter on the floor. Because it certainly takes Cas back to watching it. Seeing Dean squirm in the booth is a nice real-time reminder.

“…Yeah. Med-trained loopers can actually use the vibrations to give a pretty good massage for physical therapy. But typically, you’re kinda screwed if an untrained looper gets its oral arms ‘round your ribs.”

“What does it feel like?” He’s not being creepy, is he? That’s not a weird question to ask. He’s just curious. And he wants to be sure he’s not imagining the way Dean’s elbows seem to tighten to his body.

Dean’s bottom lip disappears between his teeth for a moment. “Like… like hundreds of fingertips all at once. It’s pretty intense.”

The new pink color at the high points of Dean’s cheeks is definitely not imagined. It feels like there’s some sort of momentum building here, and Cas doesn’t want to lose it.

“Is that different from the other tentacles?” he asks before taking another bite of his cheeseburger.

“Oh, definitely.” Dean seems to collect himself, which is mildly disappointing. “Those are just simple and smooth, but their fine motor control is phenomenal. I heard about a looper in Japan once that could even write. Recreate learned symbols, I mean, but it could maintain a basic grocery list for its quadriplegic owner. They’re way smarter than most people realize.”

Cas finds Dean’s enthusiasm an acceptable replacement for his squirming. His gestures get wider and his face lights up, transforming him from plain sexy to boyishly adorable. Cas wants to scoop him up and keep him forever. But also keep him squirming. Dammit.

Cas squints as though in thought. “So they’re just as dexterous as human fingers, then.”

The way Dean’s eyes snap to his fingers rippling illustratively through the air is immensely satisfying. God, how Cas wants to make him scream.

He  _really_  shouldn’t be thinking about that right now.

“I, um. They are, yes. Between that and not reflecting any wavelengths in the visible spectrum, I wonder sometimes how loopers didn’t end up the dominant species. They’re pretty efficient takedown machines.” Dean takes a long drag on his straw.

“Only if you’re ticklish,” Cas posits helpfully.

Then he’s frantically grabbing napkins to press over the little puddle that escapes the lid of Dean’s cup when it tips over amid a sudden bout of coughing. He’s halfway up from his seat before Dean motions him back down, waving off the concern. There’s more hacking and wiping of eyes and table before Dean seems to clear his throat successfully.

“Sorry,” Dean wheezes, a hand pressed between his collarbones. “Wrong pipe.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, just… God, this is all such a mess, I’m sorry.”

Cas is taken aback by the genuine note of apology. “What do you mean?”

Dean rubs a hand across his forehead. “I took you to a cheap burger joint and spilled my drink everywhere and won’t shut up about nerdy crap. Hell of a first date.” He laughs, but it’s not the pleasant sound Cas is used to. It sounds unkind.

It’s only when Cas reaches across the table to touch his arm that Dean sheepishly meets his eyes. “I’m enjoying it very much,” he says. “We’re eating things we both like, my fries escaped unharmed, and I  _asked_  you about nerdy crap.” He squeezes Dean’s arm. “Plus, I’m fairly sure I’m the one who’s responsible for pushing the ‘date’ concept. You just wanted another lunch sometime, but I strong-armed you.”

He’s only half-joking, but it’s a relief when Dean laughs, and this time it sounds lovely.

“The fuck you did,” Dean grins. “Pretty sure it was an accident on your part. You even tried to backpedal, and then  _I’m_  the one who said it could, in fact, be a date. Strong-armed, my ass.”

The thought that springs unbidden to Cas’ mind must be a little too evident in the pause that follows those words, because Dean laughs again, embarrassed now.

“Fuck. Er, I mean– God, nevermind. I really do need to shut up.” His eyes are sparkling with humor. “Anyway, I doubt you could literally strong-arm me even if you tried.”

Cas raises his chin in challenge. “I regularly  _lift_  the loopers that put you on the floor, Dean.”

The smile stays on Dean’s face, but his throat bobs subtly as his eyes flicker down from Cas’ face. “Yeah, well…”

No other retort is forthcoming, so Cas triumphantly marks it a win.

—

When Cas is alone with his thoughts and permitted to stress about his usual social and conversational inadequacies, he feels like he could never stand up to the power of Dean’s presence. Yet, when he’s in the moment, it’s like something clicks into place and Cas finds himself trading candid banter as if he’s been comfortable with Dean for years. It’s the oddest thing, but it just  _happens_.

“Most people can’t stand being tickled,” Cas says from the passenger seat, while Dean looks both ways before pulling out of the restaurant lot.

See, that’s something he’d never have thought he could say so directly to the object of his related fantasies. But here he is, and here’s Dean, and Cas’-brain-on-Dean apparently thinks this is fine to bring up. He glances between Dean and the passing scenery, trying not to watch him too closely but afraid of missing some telltale reaction.

“I guesso.” Dean’s eyes flick briefly from the road to Cas.

That doesn’t tell him anything. Ugh.

“But you don’t mind it.”

Dean adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. “Nah, not really. It’s… kinda fun. And I figure I get karma points for helping out disadvantaged animals.” The corner of his mouth tugs up, and he turns to look more purposely at Cas for a moment.  “At least that’s what I tell Charlie. I just have a weakness for cute things, but don’t blow my cover, okay?”

Charlie is the one who clued Cas in to this man’s softness in the first place, so this is yet another bluster to add to the long list of Dean’s Macho Self-Presentation vs. Dean’s Gooey Insides. Cas finds the constant balancing act intriguing. For reasons unknown, it makes him want to paw in there and knock it all over. He wonders if this is how cats feel.

“So what you’re saying is that you’ll let anything you deem cute enough take advantage of you.” It’s a half-statement, half-question, and while Cas isn’t directly asking whether Dean finds him cute enough, he isn’t  _not_  asking it.

The car suddenly swings hard to the right with a roar of acceleration. Cas yelps as he’s thrown with the momentum, almost straight into Dean’s lap, while he instinctively flails for something to hold on to.

When the world levels out, he glares over at Dean, who is taking in Cas’ state of disorder and looking pleased with himself.

“Sorry, these curvy roads kinda sneak up on you sometimes,” he says cheerfully. “And yes.”

It takes a second to reorient his thoughts from being scrambled along with his equilibrium.  _And yes_.

Oh. Well, that’s simpler than he thought it’d be.

But Dean hasn’t just rolled over for Cas at every opportunity. He snarks, or challenges, or flings centrifugal force before getting around to offering his underbelly. Dean is a button-pusher, and Cas is starting to wonder if it’s part of the balancing act, or if Dean is actually angling for someone to come along and put him in his place.

That is a very dangerous train of thought.

“But,” Dean says, lifting a warning finger from the steering wheel, “Don’t assume I go down easy. I know how to hold my own.”

They’re not talking about loopers anymore, are they? He doesn’t think so.

“Are you again implying that I couldn’t take you?” Cas asks with a smirk.  _Lumberjack mechanic_  Dean may be, but Cas would relish the opportunity to try him. Even if he’s overestimating himself, it still means getting into close, vigorous physical contact, and the thought of Dean panting and sweating and grinning right into his face is a potent one. Whether that happens over him or under him doesn’t really matter.

Okay, it does matter a little. Under, please. But still.

Dean snorts. “I’m just sayin’, I made my brother piss himself once. It’s probably why he still flinches whenever I get too close.” His eyes sparkle when he glances from the road again. “You don’t got a weak bladder, do ya, Cas?”

Is Dean throwing down the gauntlet Cas thinks he is? He tips his head and regards Dean for a moment.

“No. Do  _you_?” he replies deliberately. It sounds much calmer than the wildly twisting vines that are currently his insides.

Dean bites his lip like he’s trying not to smile too much. He glances out the windshield, then at the rearview and side mirrors like he suddenly needs to look everywhere but at Cas. He clears his throat, and finally says, “Guess you’d just have to find out.”

One more turn, and they’ve made it back to the shelter parking lot where Cas left his car. Earlier, he had been proud that he planned ahead enough that morning to bring the clean clothes he’s wearing, but now he desperately wishes he’d forgotten them. He would have had to go back home to change after his shift, and Dean could have picked him up from there instead. That’s where they’d be now after this simple, sweet date and the teasing push-pull of testing each other, and Cas would have the opportunity to drag Dean out of the car and up the stairs to find out exactly how it feels to be the force that puts him on the floor.

But Dean pulls into a marked space in front of this darkened building that isn’t Cas’ home and shifts into park. For a few seconds, Cas stares at the glovebox and agonizes over how he’ll communicate that he really enjoyed this time with Dean and next time he wants more than just dinner. A squeaking door snaps him up from his thoughts. Dean is getting out of the car. Why is he getting out? Did Cas do something wrong– oh.

The passenger door opens from the outside, revealing a soft grin and a flourishing gesture to beckon him out, because Dean is being a gentleman. It’s cheesy, but charming. Cas slips out and stands to meet Dean’s eyes. They’re warm and a little hesitant.

“So, uh. Next time I’ll do better than a fry joint. If you want a next time, I mean.”

It’s the only time all evening that Cas has picked up on any hint of anxiety in Dean’s voice. He’s still got that flirty smile on his lips, but there’s a betraying tension around his eyes.

Cas smiles. “I liked the fry joint. Thank you, Dean. But as far as next time…” He sees the way Dean’s jaw tightens at the pause, so he only strings out the suspense for half a beat. “It’s my turn to plan, so if the idea of diving in a shark cage seems too much for the early state of our relationship, now is the time to say so.”

Dean’s uncertainty cracks into laughter. He shakes his head and takes a step forward, closing the space between them.

“…Can I –”

Cas doesn’t wait for the question to finish before he gently leans in to catch Dean’s lips with his own. The surprised little sound it prompts is delightful. Even more exquisite is the way Dean’s eyes are painfully soft and bare when they separate, until his conscious mind seems to catch up and he blinks back into his usual charm.

“Get home safe, Cas,” he says warmly. “See you next week?”

Cas nods and waves as he climbs into his own car.  _It’s a date._


End file.
